


The Pursuit of Trinity

by dornfelder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Felching, M/M, Multi, POV Second Person, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:24:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pursuit of Trinity (or How to Succeed in Committing Adultery)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ginny: What's Been Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: kristan1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a change, and Ginny decides to take a risk. It also time for beating Draco at his own game.

_Late June_

 

You lie on your back, knees bent and your legs spread, on soft cotton sheets, hands clenched in the folds of the blanket, your head thrown back while he thrusts inside you, you're breathing hard, moaning when he pounds into you without mercy. It feels so good, you're so wet, and your clit aches with the stimulation, you have mere seconds before you'll come, again. Your nails are digging into his shoulder, leaving marks and you don't care, you're too close. And you know he doesn't care either, not now when the only thing on his mind is fucking you, deep, hard and fast, the relentless rhythm you both crave. With him, it's not gentle lovemaking, it's animalistic, and almost violent.

You close your eyes when the moment comes, screaming with pleasure, scratching his back. He doesn't falter, but goes on, even when it becomes too much after a moment, when it almost starts to hurt because you're a little sore, almost, but not quite, pain and pleasure coalescing. He still fucks you like there's no tomorrow, until he roars, once, twice, and collapses on top of you. His weight crushes you. You don't care. Your legs feel like lead. You don't care. You're getting cold. You don't care.

 

A door opens. Draco pulls away and turns to his back, his expression expectant, smug, his demeanour relaxed and casual.

Harry stands there, tiredness in his eyes, his auror robes crumpled, his shoulders hunched. You smile at him while you sprawl all over the bed, relishing the feeling of just been shagged for an hour straight, relishing the way his eyes widen and darken when he sees you. “Hi, Harry,” you purr.

 

Later this evening, you watch them fuck. Harry is on his hands and knees, with Draco taking him from behind. They both like this position, much more than you do. It's deep and intense, but you prefer to be on your back, or straddling them, so that you clit gets stimulated directly.

You're getting wet and aroused while looking at them. Harry's eyes are closed, he's focused on the sensation, jaw slack, oblivious to anything but Draco at the moment. Harry's cock is rock hard and leaking, but neither he nor Draco are touching it.

You know Harry can come from this alone, but it will take some more time, and the way Draco is picking up speed tells you he'll finish all too soon.

You crawl closer towards them, turning to your side, so you can take Harry's cock in your hand and squeeze lightly. He moans, his balls tightening, and jerks, and swears: “Yes, oh, yes, fuck, harder, faster, please.” You don't know whether it's you or Draco he's addressing, but both of you oblige, you're wanking him faster, while Draco fucks him as hard as he can.

Harry comes a moment later, exploding in your hands, and then Draco does, too, riding out his orgasm with another thrust, before he pulls away and his knees give way. He breaks down on the bed, between the two of you, his eyes close on their own volition, and moments later he's sound asleep, his breath deep and even.

Hardly surprising, you think, once again, Draco's done all the work today, and you smile and caress his slightly parted lips with one careful finger. It's the only time you can do this, when he's fallen asleep in your bed.

Harry curls up at Draco's back, throwing his arm around Draco's waist, his hand reaching out for you. Your fingers entwine. You snuggle closer to Draco, trying to avoid any movement that could disturb his sleep, but intent on getting your way.

Harry is tired too, and after the day he's had, it's no wonder, so you don't insist on anything else but kissing him once, deeply and lovingly, your heads hovering over Draco's sleeping form. He smiles at you, tiredly.

“I love you, Harry.”

“Love you too, Gin,” he murmurs, settling back on the sheets, and falls asleep, spooning Draco, his hand still holding yours.

With you free hand you reach for a blanket and pull it up, enclosing all three of your in it's warmth before you settle down and arrange Draco's unconscious, but pliant arms to your liking, so that you fit in his embrace perfectly. “ _Nox_.”

You close your eyes and listen to the breaths of your husband and your lover, content and happy. You smell your combined scent: Draco and Harry and sex, come and sweat and the faint traces of cologne on Draco's neck. And you remember the way it started, some months ago, when neither of you knew what would happen once a long-locked door was opened.

 

 

 _Back in April_

 

You're married for about three years, with your anniversary approaching in early May. It's another boring ministry appointment, one of those occasions when you two decide to partake in because you want to get out of the house for once. You've been occupied with work for the last few weeks, too busy to spend much time with each other. Your sex life has been reduced to quick, satisfying, and practised fucks, twice a week or even less.

You still remember your mother's warning, one of the shockingly explicit warnings she gave you when you were about to marry. “Do you want your marriage to last? Then you have to invest in your relationship. Talk, listen, talk and listen, be honest, be insistent, and, most important of all, have sex.”

It's been good advice so far. You've talked, and you've listened, and you've made Harry talk too, made him talk about everything, his fears and insecurities and his memories and expectations. And his fantasies.

You spent nights in bed talking, shagging, snogging, and you made it a rule never to lie to him and never to waste an opportunity to shock him with your bluntness.

You tried everything one of you wanted to try in bed at least once.

That was the way you discovered you don't like being tied up during sex, but Harry does, that you don't like anal sex, but Harry loves it when you slide a finger inside him while he's fucking you, and stimulate his prostate.

You found out you like to be fucked hard and mercilessly, harder than Harry dares to fuck you, because it feels so good when someone shows you they're stronger than you, and takes care of your needs, and you've got no say in it. When someone takes you to your physical and mental boundaries and it still feels wonderful.

Harry can't give you that, you know, and you wouldn't make him do it.

 

On the other hand, Harry likes to go down on you, and it's glorious, you can spend hours on you back, being teased and wooed and licked and sucked and bitten, until he finally slides inside you and you two make love, slowly, intense and utterly satisfying.

You're reciprocating on occasion, but it's not your favourite activity. He understands it and doesn't press the issue, but you feel obligated and do it at times, just to make him happy. It's not that you find it repulsive, but it's too much work for you, and you want orgasms from sex, not a mouth full of bitter liquid you dutifully swallow, having to watch your husband fall asleep afterwards in blissful peace while you're wet and hot and ready.

You often straddle his lap and ride him hard. You find your own rhythm, and he likes it, likes watching you find your pleasure while you control the pace, the depth, the angle.

After sex, you cuddle and talk, and laugh and kiss until everything starts again. You love him, you love having sex with him. He's a part of your life, and he owns a part of your soul, irrevocably, he always has, he always will.

 

You're the stronger one. You've always known it. Growing up with six brothers made you rather stubborn and persistent, not to mention the fierceness of your temper, showing in your red hair rather obviously.

You need confrontation, controversy, and quarrels. You want to fight and make up like you used to do with your brothers. They never treated you like you were fragile, and you aren't, and sometimes you'd like nothing better than argue with Harry up to the breaking point, where both of you start hitting and shoving each other, until he looses his temper, throws you down on the floor and fucks your brain out.

Only you know Harry won't do it. He wouldn't hurt you, ever, and you know better than to try and provoke him. Your marriage wouldn't survive that, wouldn't survive the guilt and the shame he'd feel, and the loss of faith and trust on his part.

 

Harry is strong, too, but in another way. He has to be, because everybody expects it of him. He's an excellent auror, a great friend and the perfect husband, and he has developed a fierce determination, the kind of resolve that helped him defeat You-Know-Who, but deep down, he's still a little boy that needs to be taken care of. But it's not you who can do that.

The better you know him, the clearer it gets that he's tired of playing the hero all the time, and that he wants to let go. But he won't, and you can't make him.

 

There are things you can't give each other. There are times when both of you want to give up control, but the other's not the one who can take it.

It takes some time to acknowledge it, but when you do, you start to wonder if it's these things that will ruin your marriage one day, that will make one of you start to cheat on the other, because your needs can't be denied any longer.

 

This day at the ministry, you have fun. At home, you've both decided to wear fancy clothes and drink wine and dance, to do what young couples do and not to think of anything else but amusing yourselves for once. Not to think of work, his and yours, because even if you like it, it's become pretty demanding lately, your custom-made shield cloak and belts are deemed fashionable now, and you've got countless orderings to deliver. Not to think of your mother's birthday party which is planned for Sunday, of Hermione's miscarriage that made the two of you spend the last night at the hospital, sitting with Ron and trying to console him.

Hermione is fine now, physically, and you can't help them with their grief. Your mother told you to go out and have fun, and that's what you're going to do.

The first part of the evening is quite boring, spent with listening to Shacklebolt's speech and eating and chatting with friends and acquaintances. You drink a little more wine than you should, and when the dancing starts, you pull Harry to the dance floor and make him laugh with your imitation of a muggle disco visitor.

The two of you whirl around and step on each other's toes, laughing and flirting. A slow dance leads to snogging, and after that, you decide to take a break and have some more drinks.

When you leave the dance floor, holding Harry's hand, you notice Malfoy for the first time. He's standing at the counter, looking at you with his icy glare, his face showing contempt.

But when your eyes meet, there's something in his gaze that takes you aback, a glittering fierceness you didn't expect. You don't like being taken by surprise, so you decide to do something unusual for once and smile at him, sweetly, seductively, and eye him from head to toe, his immaculate, expensive robes and the fashionable leather boots. You raise your eyebrow when his eyes narrow and he takes an angry sip of his wine.

You lean your head towards Harry's ear. “Malfoy's here. Care to give him something to look at?”

As an auror, he's learned some stealth since school, and he avoids looking at Malfoy. He accepts the challenge, leans into you and kisses you, passionately and with lots of tongue. He pulls you closer, his hands cup you buttocks. It's quite inappropriate, but you don't care. Malfoy's got a reputation of his own, his indiscretions are subject of gossip in the Prophet and in Diagon Alley more often than not. Rumour says Malfoy doesn't care whether it's a bloke or a bird, as long as he doesn't go home alone.

With your kiss, you and Harry show him that you're attractive, in love, and have an amazing sex live. That's the message, and judging from the way he curls his lip and snorts when you've finished, he got it.

You don't know where the urge to wind Malfoy up has come from. You've been out of school for years, and your paths didn't cross very often. Deep down, though, you know exactly why you're doing it: because you've _always_ wanted to wind him up, to provoke him. You've always felt strongly towards him. You loved Harry, and you despised Malfoy with a passion that's not the opposite, but the other side of love, a feeling so forceful it can only express itself in extremes.

It's funny that you realise it now, and that you still feel it after all these years.

 

The evening goes on, and you don't think about Malfoy, not consciously, but there's an awareness of his presence you would never admit to. You notice it when he orders a drink, when he changes his position to talk to someone, when he looks at the dance floor to eye a pretty girl or a fit bloke. He even dances, and he moves graceful and fluid, radiating sex and wealth and pureblood upbringing with every twist and step.

Your eyes meet again and again, you can't help it. His appearance has always been distinctive, his bright hair, his tall and slender frame, his icy demeanour.

For a second you wonder how it would be to sleep with him, to see him lose his composure, to see him sweaty and dishevelled, his face contorted in the throes of passion.

How his cock would feel between your legs.

 

Midnight approaches, and Harry excuses himself, heading for the gents. You stay and enjoy a break of flirting and chatting and drinking, watching the enchanted ceiling, the lovely decoration, and the extravagant robes and dresses. And of course, you notice when Malfoy leaves the room, too. You act by instinct when you follow him, down the hallway and through a wooden door.

And freeze on your spot when you see them, facing each other, gazes locked. Their posture means fight. Means hostility and tension that's so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“If you ever do so much as lay your hands on my wife, Malfoy, I'll fucking kill you.”

“Oh, I rather think she wants to lay her hands on _me_. As if I would soil myself by touching a Weasley. On the other hand, she seems pretty eager, flirting with me the whole evening. Doesn't get laid much, lately?” His mouth curls with a cruel sneer.

Harry laughs, darkly. “You're pathetic, Malfoy. As if she'd ever touch you. Fucking Death Eater scum.”

Malfoy's face pales with fury. “At least I don't fuck a woman who looks like my mother!” he spits.

“Fuck you, Malfoy!” Harry sounds angry, more so than ever, and he shoves Malfoy, hard.

“You wish”, Malfoy hisses, pushing Harry against the wall, gripping his wrists and pinning them above Harry's head. And Harry, who's an auror and well-trained in hand-to-hand combat, is taken by surprise and inhales, gasping. Malfoy is close to him, their faces are mere inches apart.

“I'll take her”, Malfoy sneers. “Just to show you I can. And if you ask me nicely, I'll take you, too, I bet you're gagging for it, aren't you?”

Harry curses and tries to break free. He struggles, and Malfoy keeps him there, holds him, holds him with a strength that matches Harry's own.

It's that moment you recognise the look on Harry's face, the inner turmoil, the signs of arousal: his dilated pupils, his hard breath, the inability to take his gaze from Malfoy.

Malfoy realises, too, and he laughs, unbelievingly, torn between scorn and awe. “Your really want me to! You want me, Potter, you sick fuck, you're getting hard thinking of my cock up your arse. Would you like me to take you and fuck you into the floor? Or would you suck my cock, taking me deep, choking while you're trying to swallow, and fuck her afterwards, at home, while you still taste my come in you mouth? Would you, Potter?” His voice softens, as does his hold on Harry, and he leans into him and whispers something into his ear, something that makes Harry flinch and, finally, push Malfoy away. Malfoy stumbles, and Harry frees himself.

It's the moment you get into action, even though you're still shell-shocked, and sneak back through the door, heading for the bar again. A moment later, you've just returned to your spot, Harry emerges from the hallway, looking for you. You catch his eyes and smile at him, invitingly. After a second, he smiles back.

 

When you suggest to go home some time later, he immediately agrees.

Your arrive at home and go to sleep. At least, Harry goes to sleep. You stay awake and think. You have to think it through, carefully, all aspects of it, to get the whole picture. You have to consider everything: Harry's and Malfoy's encounter, your own subconscious desires, and the various hints you got during those years you've been together with Harry.

And when you make your decision, in the early morning with Harry sound asleep next to you, you all but smile, get out of bed and make some tea.

 

You confront Harry at the breakfast table. “I saw you with Malfoy.” You don't need to explain, he knows exactly what you mean. His eyes widen, and he doesn't know what to say.

“I thought about it,” you say casually.

He looks at you, trying to figure it out, trying to figure _you_ out. He knows you pretty well, so it doesn't take long for him to realise that  whatever you'll say next, it'll probably scare the shit out of him.

“He was right,” you say. “I _did_ look at him.”

“Oh.”

“I've never thought about it before, but I do know now I want him. And I think you do, too.”

His jaw drops. You love these moments, when your bravery and forwardness makes him feel like that, awed and confused and incredulous all at once.

“And I think we should seduce him and have our way with him. On our terms.”

He shakes his head, weakly. “You must be mad.”

“I am. I'm mad at you because you never told me you want to be fucked by a man.”

“It – it never came to my mind”, he replies to you. “Not until yesterday, that is.”

You believe him. “Well, it makes perfect sense, if you think about it”, you resume. “And I really _really_ don't like the thought you'd be cheating on me with Malfoy, or another man, for that matter. And that would be inevitable, given what happened yesterday.”

“Or I would be cheating on you, and either way, we'd both be miserable. But I want us to be happy. To be happy together. I love you, and I know you love me, too. And if we both want Malfoy – and Malfoy wants both of us – then we'll have him. And we'll set the conditions, so that he can't divide us.”

 

And that's it. You go back to bed, make love vigourously, and afterwards you talk it through, the conditions, the plan, and two weeks later you have Malfoy in your bed for the first time, fucking you for all he's worth, while Harry's sitting in the corner under his invisibility cloak, watching you. You like it, you like it more than you'd ever admit to anyone, except for Harry. The way he holds you down. The way he spreads your legs and shoves his hand inside you, rough. You're wet and longing before he even kisses you. And he does, invades your mouth, and you give as good as you get, you've never been the passive type.

His cock is hot at your belly, at your thighs, and you wonder how far you can go teasing him before he snaps. You push against his chest and make him lie down on his back for you. You lower yourself down on his cock, and even though you want to do it fast and hard, want to come as soon as possible, you set an agonising pace, torturing him. He wants you, you can see it, he wants you desperately, right now, and it makes you think that maybe deep down it's more than just revenge for him. You remember a thousand times when your paths crossed at Hogwarts, a thousand gazes that held hatred and contempt and an underlying attraction that fuelled your anger.

This is the moment he becomes Draco to you, in your thoughts, the moment you forget who you are and who he is, family and upbringing and prejudices, and you're only a woman and he's only a man you desire. You ride him, rocking softly, the movements so slow it's nowhere near enough.

The moment comes when he breaks and forgets his goal, forgets that he's doing it to get one over you and Harry, to scorn you both. He growls, grips your shoulders hard and flips you on your back, thrusting into you, violently, finally giving in to his own, subconscious need to claim you. He fucks you and you love every second of it, slamming into you with brutal force, and you take it and arch beneath him, your nails scratching his back and drawing blood, his mouth swallowing your screams.

Too soon, your reach your climax, and everything's in a haze, but you keep encouraging him, harder, faster, until he loses it and comes deep inside you.

Moments later, he's on his feet, dressing and getting out of your door. He's terrified, he's frightened, you can tell. You don't especially care, after your extraordinary orgasm and the wonderful relaxation that sets in.

You have to get this right, though, and you turn your head to where Harry is sitting and smile at him. “Care to join me?”

Reluctantly, he takes the cloak off and approaches the bed. He's flushed, with embarrassment and arousal, he's hard and damp under the fabric of his trousers, and he doesn't know what to say. He sits down at the edge of the bed. “That – that was what you wanted?” he asks, incredulous.

You nod, reaching out for him. “Yeah.”

“But he - he was so -”

You pull him on top of you, whispering to his ear. “Don't tell me you didn't wish you were me, every single second of it.”

He can't suppress a low moan. “Fuck, you're right. I hate it when you're right.”

“Yes, but you love me. And I love you. And I'm glad I wasn't the one under the cloak. The thought of seeing him doing it to you – I like it. Very much. Makes me all hot. Would have been torture to watch.” You hum, deep in your throat. “Harry, you're so hard. Take off your trousers and let's do something about it.”

He's naked in mere seconds, pressing against you. “God, Ginny, I love you. You're incredible.”

You smile. “What do you want to do?”

“Anything”, he murmurs.

It's a wicked idea that comes to your sex-addled brain. “Lick me. Get a taste of him.”

His body seizes up, he's close, just from your words and the picture you've painted for him. “Fuck, yes.”

He kisses his way down to your pubic hair, the damp curls that look darker now. He inhales, deeply, the smell of your arousal and Draco's seed, and it makes you dizzy with want. “Harry.”

He goes down on you, licking you clean of Draco's come, both of you moaning and trembling, and when you climax, he does, too, shooting his load all over your thighs and collapsing with his head on your belly.

He crawls up to you, and you snuggle up together. You sigh contentedly. “He's been rude to leave like that,” you say. “We'll have to teach him proper post-sex cuddling etiquette.”

He laughs with a deep, sleepy voice, close to your ear. “Yes we do.”

So you do.


	2. Harry: Taming Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wants to keep Draco. It's as simple as this. Only that it's not simple at all.

**Harry: Taming Draco**

 

_August_

 

When you wake up in the morning, Ginny's lying next to you, on her side, her legs drawn up. She often sleeps that way. 

You blink and try to remember how you fell asleep. You were next to Draco, holding him from behind. He's now lying on Ginny's other side, sleeping soundly on his stomach. 

You draw the conclusion he's been to the loo at some time during the night. At least he's returned to bed. It's taken time to coax him into staying the night, and he's still not quite comfortable with it. 

Earlier in your admittedly odd relationship, he used to get up and sneak out of the house. Fortunately, you have been able to convince him otherwise lately. 

 

You smile, content. You prefer lying between Draco and Ginny, but that doesn't matter right now. The merits of being in the middle, however, are wasted on Ginny. She always disentangles herself during the night and ends up sleeping on her own, close, but not touching, and your attempts of snuggling closer usually wake her up. Draco is more receptive to spooning, and he is a less restless sleeper. For you, being in the middle means you can hold Ginny when you fall asleep and turn around and hold on to Draco once she moves away. It's best, and it also means you can decide whom to wake up first for sex. 

Today, Draco's too far away, so it's Ginny. 

You start stroking her thigh, softly, relishing the feeling of soft, sleep-warm skin. You sniff at her hair, inhaling her wonderful scent: lavender and _female_ , and nuzzle her neck. You lick at her earlobe and nip at her earring, your tongue eagerly moving against the salty metal. 

She wakes, stretching, sighing and melting in your embrace. 

“Love you,” you whisper, and she rewards you with a smile. “Wanna fuck?” you ask.

“Mmm. Love you, too,” she answers, arching up when your hand finds her nipple and teases lightly. “More.”

She's naked, so you don't have to waste any time removing clothes. You can slide between her legs that spread wide for you and concentrate on kissing her throat, her collarbone, taking your time to make your way down to her breasts. 

It's what she taught you some years ago: kissing her breasts is nice, but other parts of her body are sensitive, too, and by now, you know them all, know what makes her moan and sigh, respond to you. She gets impatient soon, urging you on, her hand squeezing your erection. 

It's actually fortunate you had the opportunity to watch her with Draco. You know now she doesn't need further foreplay, that she'll like it even when she's not quite ready. You give in and slide inside her, taking your time because that's the way you like it in the morning, moving with her, unhurried and thorough. It feels like heaven, being inside her like that, an early morning fuck. You open your eyes and look at her, moaning at her oblivious expression, filling her with each thrust. Your bodies are made for each other, made to join. 

You're already getting close when you notice Draco's awake. You turn your head to gaze at him, and he watches you, a look of silent wonder on his face. It heightens your arousal, the realisation he likes to watch, likes to witness your coupling, your pleasure, even if he's not partaking. It's a recent development. It means it's no longer only about fucking and taking and getting off, but about sharing and giving, too. 

You want him to be there. So much, maybe too much. You want him to partake, you want him to claim a place in your bed, in your life. And in this actual moment, too. You try to express this feelings when you look at him and your lips part invitingly. 

He gets the hint, slowly moving closer. Ginny's eyes open, dark with lust, and focus on you, but she reaches out for Draco, covering his hand with hers and drawing it to her breast. “Do something useful,” she murmurs, and Draco chuckles and caresses her nipple with his thumb. She closes her eyes, again, enjoying the sensation. All too soon, she reaches her climax, her inner muscles clenching around your cock. 

It takes your breath away, and your orgasm is imminent. Draco smiles, his other hand now trailing down your spine. You lean down to kiss Ginny, who turns her head a moment later and kisses Draco when you come inside her, wishing you could make this moment last forever. 

When you kiss Draco a moment later, there's still a little hesitation, not obvious enough that anybody but you would notice, but it's there nevertheless. Somehow it's easier for him and Ginny to come together without the omnipresent trepidation and cautiousness that's part of your relationship with him. 

For you, being with a man is still strange, still takes time got get used to. And between Draco and you, things have always been difficult, to say the least. Even when you started sleeping with each other, it was about dominance and submission, and Draco never even considered bottoming for you. 

You want him to. Oh, how you want him to. But not now, not after you've just had Ginny, who rolls to her side, lazily, and closes her eyes again to doze for another hour. It's Sunday, after all. 

You turn to Draco. He's lying on his side, face expressionless, but his cock is hard and red and waiting for you. You smile and let your gaze linger on it. “Eager much?” 

“Don't tease,” he drawls. “Put that mouth of yours to a better use, will you?” And he turns on his back and waits for you to suck his cock. 

Some months ago, you would have dealed with a resurrected Voldemort rather than giving Draco Malfoy a blowjob. But back then, you didn't know what you do now: how Draco falls apart when you take him in your mouth, when you taste him and swirl your tongue around the head of him, exploring, gently, worshipping his dick like it is a precious gift you got for birthday. 

Which is exactly what you do now. Ginny opens her eyes to watch while you settle between Draco's legs and get down to work on his erection, using all the fancy tricks you've learned recently: how to tease the slit with you tongue, how to use your tongue to press the fat vein on the bottom side, how to take him almost all the way in without suffocating. And Draco cherishes it all, subconsciously, trembling and cursing loudly whenever you threaten to stop. One of your hands fondles his balls, and you use the other to press a sensitive spot on his perineum, make him jerk, and let it wander further towards his hole, rubbing and circling and sliding a finger inside. 

Without any warning, Draco arches and screams and spills himself in your mouth, and you swallow and take your time to lick him clean before you release him. You're almost hard again, and you wonder how it happened: you're not seventeen anymore. On the other hand, twenty-seven isn't that old. 

Draco eyes have fallen shut, and he doesn't even bother to change his exposed and vulnerable position. Your smile is smug when you share a moment of quiet satisfaction with Ginny. 

She enjoys watching you two far too much and sometimes she pleasures herself while you're occupied. Not today, though. She's still sated and sleepy, yawning once when you lean in to kiss her, but responding eagerly enough, sharing Draco's taste with you. 

You flop down on the bed, next to Draco, finding yourself in the middle at last. 

But you know Draco won't stay for long. He never stays the whole day. In a minute, he'll get up and leave, making excuses or not, going back to his flat, going back to his pureblood friends and his pureblood life. 

Sometimes, you're afraid you'll lose him again if you dare to pressure further. Ginny and you have agreed to take it slow when it comes to Draco. To coax him rather than coerce him. And that's exactly what you've done so far, because you really, really want to keep him. Though you don't now why: he's a mean bastard, a supremacist, a snarky and cynical prat. He never wastes an opportunity to make fun of you. He still taunts you whenever the occasion arises. 

But it doesn't matter. That's just the way it is, and when he fucks you, you feel like he's shattering you to pieces and rebuilding you, bit by bit, until you're whole and new and reborn, just like a phoenix on his burning day. 

You want to keep him, so you don't tell him to stay. 

Today it seems he has no intention to leave, at least not yet. You look down on his beautiful, relaxed face. Of course, he opens his eyes and catches you staring. 

You could smile at him, seductively, and beg him to fuck you. 

You could laugh and tell him to go to the shower first, before Ginny decides she needs a bath and takes an hour or two in the bathroom. 

You could try to hold him, and that would most certainly make him get up and out of the house. Between the two of you, cuddling is only allowed late at night, after mind-blowing and impossibly exhausting sex. 

You don't do any of it. You grin down at him, and decide, for once, that getting up early might not be as bad as it seems. “Go to sleep again. I'll be making breakfast.” 

To your utter surprise, he mutters something unintelligible and curls up under the blanket. You get out of bed. 

Once at the doorstep, you take another look at them and smile. Ginny, who doesn't share your restraint when it comes to snuggling with Draco, has turned around, lying on her stomach and partly on top of Draco, one arm and one leg draped over his chest and legs. You're not quite sure, but from your angle it almost looks as if he's playing with a strand of her hair. 

 

In the kitchen, making blueberry scones, coffee and the special tea Draco drinks for breakfast, you ponder on your situation, and how you ended up married to Ginny and having Draco for your lover. You think of the way it started, the first time you watched Draco fucking Ginny, and of course, you think of the first time you gave in and let him fuck you. 

 

 

_Back in Early May_

 

It's two weeks after Ginny's night with Draco. 

A carefully planned encounter, and Draco never stood a chance. 

After the move he's made on you at the ministry party, you have reason enough to confront him. You go out and find him in Diagon Alley, at a pub he frequently visits. You've learned one thing or another about acting in your auror training, and it's easy enough to pretend you're furious about Ginny. Ginny, who's supposedly cheated on you, but didn't tell you with whom. 

Of course, Draco knows why you are there, and he doesn't try to hide his satisfaction. You, begging him for sex. You, begging him to fuck you. 

Of course he comes with you. 

Once you're home, in your bedroom, you pretend not to notice he knows exactly where to put his cloak. Pretend not to realise he has left his shoes at the door, where Ginny has shown him. 

It's easy to pretend you're too nervous to register it, because you actually are. 

Eager, too, turned on to the point of aching with arousal, helpless against a desire you haven't even known to exist until Draco pushed you against the wall at the ministry. Draco. Malfoy. _Him_. 

You stand there, waiting, when he approaches you, feeling like a cornered animal. But you want it, more than anything. And knowing that Ginny is there makes it better, alleviates your fear. Actually, it's what keeps you from panicking: her presence, and the memory of the way she writhed beneath Draco. The revelation that you actually didn't know whether to be jealous of him or her is something you can't quite cope with yet. 

You stop thinking the moment Draco kisses you. 

His mouth. His tongue. His teeth. And then, finally, his cock, in all it's glory, under your tentative touch that makes him hiss. “I'm not a girl, Potter. Harder. Do it harder. You know what feels good, don't you?” 

Minutes later, you're on your hands and knees, his fingers deep in your arse, stretching you, none too gently, but thoroughly. After a minute or two you're indeed begging for it, pushing back, demanding he takes you: “Now, fuck, please.” 

He gives it to you, breaches you and fucks you, and for the first time you can  understand why Ginny likes it that way, rough and unforgiving. You're at Draco's mercy, and you love it, giving yourself up to the experience, your surrender so absolute it surprises even Draco. 

It surprises both of you when you come untouched, shouting your pleasure while he marks your body as his with his teeth, his cock, his relentless thrusting hips, his bruising grip. 

This time, he stays long enough for your breath to even out and your sweat and come to dry on your skin. Lying on your bed next to you, he turns his head, meeting your gaze. “Guess you really needed that”, he states, with only a hint of a sneer. 

You can't find an answer to that, and he doesn't expect one. 

When he's already left the bed and is pulling on his shoes, you can finally phrase your thoughts. “Thank you.” 

Eyes wide with astonishment, he looks up, searching for traces of irony, and looking all but confused when he finds none. “My pleasure.” The lack of malice convinces you, more than anything, that it has been the right decision, that _he_ has been the right decision. 

When Ginny joins you on the bed after he's gone, she simply holds you close and strokes your hair while you're trying to stomach the fact your life as you've known it and your certainty about your sexual orientation has just been burnt to ashes. 

 

You both know it will take something drastic to convince Draco to become your lover. And you decide you deserve some fun, too, because he's tried to break up your marriage. 

So you plan your next move carefully. 

 

 

_Middle of May_

 

In your bedroom, under the cloak with your wand ready, you wait until Draco and Ginny are on the bed, naked. The moment he's going to enter her, you silently cast _Incarcerous_ and tie him to the bed with Slytherin-green ropes. He's incredibly furious when you two explain how you've played him all along, and that he'll never be able to break you two apart. 

After that, you two start making love next to him, daring him to watch rather than close his eyes. You and Ginny move together, perfectly aligned, slowly, her eyes never leaving Draco's face while you bring her to orgasm, but hold yourself back. 

And he's so hard, watching you both, his cock leaking on the sheets, his eyes almost black with need at the time Ginny screams and comes for you. 

It's the ultimate test, and you know Ginny has been right, he wants you simply because he wants you, both of you. And he gets you, both of you, that night. 

Ginny rides him while he's still restrained by the ropes; you're behind her on your knees, caressing her breasts and nipples and all her sensitive spots. Your hands roam her body possessively. Ginny turns to kiss you, then leans in to kiss Draco, stopping abruptly the moment he gets too close. You replace her, straddling Draco's hips, kissing him, deeply. “When I release you, will you fuck me?” you ask, whispering into his ear, and he moans, a broken sound, and a hissed “ _Yes_ ” is his reply. 

He does, and after that, you go down on Ginny, only to be stopped by Draco. She lets him take your place between her legs, and they fuck, and you're hard again before they're finished. 

You don't remember how often each of you comes that night. In the morning, none of you has had more than a minute of sleep. You're exhausted and sore all over, but when Draco is gone and Ginny lies in your arms, both of you bruised and reeking of sex, but completely sated, you're sure he won't be able to stay away for long. 

 

A week later, he knocks on your door, late in the evening, and you let him in. 

 

At first, it's not easy. You have to fight mutual resentment, jealousy and the feeling of humiliation when he so openly enjoys taking you, fucking you, and mocks you for your eagerness. 

He never stays the night, but he drops by every other day, three nights in a row is the longest time he stays away. He doesn't talk to you, he only wants to fuck, and at first, it's enough. 

If it were only the two of you, you and him, you doubt you'd ever get on friendly terms. But there's Ginny, and she does what women usually do much better than men: mediate. She takes your rivalry, the competition, shapes it and forms it into something else. Something more productive, even though it takes some effort, but it's worth it when it results in pretty spectacular orgasms for the three of you. 

Admittedly, having a threesome is quite complicated, co-ordinating the movements, finding a rhythm, but the three of you soon learn the possibilities and boundaries. You blowing Draco while he's going down on Ginny is one thing, but the minute Ginny tries to suck you off, it becomes difficult to concentrate on your task and hold the position. 

And while Ginny gives good head, the few times Draco blows you also blow your mind and spoil you completely. Unfortunately, he doesn't do it very often. 

Going down on Ginny while Draco fucks you with a pillow under your hips becomes one of your favourite activities, and fucking Ginny while Draco fucks you is even more glorious. 

The attempt of fucking Ginny simultaneously, anally and vaginally, fails spectacularly. She threatens to cast a bat-bogey hex at Draco if he ever tries to invade her anus again, whether with his hands or his penis. 

When you try to calm her, she ends up cursing both of you with a rather colourful vocabulary. 

You end up fleeing from the bedroom, collapse laughing at the kitchen floor, until Draco leans in and kisses you. A moment later you're fucking, slowly, almost leisurely, face to face. 

For once, Ginny doesn't watch, and it's nice to concentrate only on Draco, the _oh-so-good_ snap of his hips, the wonderful feel of him fucking you for your pleasure, and his. When he comes inside you, you feel complete, happy, and it scares you that you feel so connected to him, that you want him as much as you want Ginny. Maybe even more, but you'd never admit it, not to her, not to anyone. 

Maybe, if you hadn't fallen for her, you'd be gay. She's a part of you, your wife, your confidant and sweetheart, she's _Ginny_ with all the wonderful things that define her. You love fucking her, you do, but getting fucked by Draco has become a  necessity, something you crave beyond reason. 

You can't let him know. But then, when he looks at you, serious for once and without his usual facade of scorn and sarcasm, you think maybe he already does. 

 

The first time he stays over night it's due to exhaustion. 

You make sure it happens again. It's his ambition to pleasure both of you, and when you simply take turns in fucking him and enjoy the show the rest of the time, he stands no chance in staying awake afterwards. He tries, though. Your lover is nothing if not determined. Fortunately, so are you. 

 

 

_August_

 

After sharing breakfast with you and Ginny in your cosy kitchen, Draco floos back to his flat, saying goodbye in his usual, sullen manner. The short “Thanks for breakfast”, in any case, is an improvement. You smile at him from the doorstep when he walks into the fireplace and disappears. 

Twenty seconds after he's gone, the flames come alive once more, and Ron steps out, followed by a beaming Hermione. 

You stare at them with wide-eyed, hardly able to conceal your terror. 

One minute earlier, and they'd have run straight into Draco. Shit, you think, double shit. 

“Morning, Harry. You should check your floo connection, we had to try two times today before we got through.”

Which is understandable, but you can't tell them that. 

They invade your kitchen without waiting for an invitation. 

Ginny's still sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading, and she raises her head and asks “Have you forgotten something?” before she realises it's not Draco who's entered the room. 

Three plates on the table. A pot of tea neither you nor Ginny usually drink. The scent of Draco's aftershave still lingering in the air. 

You bite your lips while Ron's trained observing skills draw conclusions. Hermione, who's even more attentive most of the times, doesn't realise. She sits down at the table, smiling and taking a scone. 

A part of you absentmindly takes in the way she's positively glowing with happiness, while another one watches Ron's eyes narrow. You groan inwardly. 

“I'm pregnant again”, Hermione announces. “The healers tell me everything's fine. I'm already twelve weeks along.”

Your predicament forgotten, you and Ginny look at each other, sharing surprise and joy, followed by pain so intense it threatens to overwhelm you. 

Quickly, you both snap out of the fog and act on instinct, Ginny all but squeaking with honest delight and hugging Hermione, while you clap Ron on the back. “Congratulations, mate!” 

Ron's distracted for the moment. You don't delude yourself into thinking he'll forget about it, though. 

 

 

_October_

 

When you tell them, finally, that you and Ginny are seeing someone, seeing, as in shagging on a regular basis, and that it's a bloke, and, yes, you're _both_ shagging him, their reaction isn't as bad as it could be. 

You get the impression they've already guessed a part of it. That morning was an indication, surely, not to mention the many times you told them you already had plans for the evening, making lame excuses when they tried to figure out why you were so evasive. 

Or the perfectly shaped bite marks Ron sees on your back after sparring, in spots where Ginny usually doesn't leave any. 

Or the blond hair Hermione picks from Ginny's scarf the other day, while you remember how Draco used it to tie your hands to a conjured bar and fucked you senseless from behind while Ginny impaled herself on your prick, circling her hips lazily and gaining pleasure from the force of Draco's thrusts that drove you into her again and again. 

Inevitably, you get hard. It's Hermione's odd look that helps you reign in your libido, that, and the need to confiscate the hair to make sure she doesn't brew polyjuice to find out Draco's identity. 

What doesn't help is Ginny's gleeful expression and the knowing look in her eyes. 

Regarding the many clues they've gotten in the last few weeks, it's hardly surprising they confront you during dinner one evening. And when you tell them, they're actually understanding. Of course, they ask who it is, if they know him, if you'll introduce him to them. 

 

You'd like to, but you can't. The moment anyone finds out about Draco, he'll leave you. He's told you more times than you can count. Maybe one day, though, you think, maybe one day he'll change his mind. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Ron and Hermione know better than to pursue the issue further. You know they'll watch you and Ginny, and search for further evidence, which, honestly, you expect them to do. You'd be disappointed if they didn't, if they didn't care enough to be curious and concerned. 

As it is, Hermione is the one to concentrate on what's most important. “Does he make you happy?” 

You and Ginny share a look. 

“He does,” Ginny says and you inwardly agree. All of a sudden, you're indeed annoyingly happy. It's not perfect, you think, and silently add, _yet_.


	3. Draco: Rules and a Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with Gryffindors isn't as easy as it seems. Dealing with with rules he wants to break on top of his own insecurities is even more difficult for Draco to accomplish.

_November_

 

The first time you let Potter fuck you, you tell yourself it's accidental. It simply happens. You're nastily exhausted and you're pissed off. Afterwards, you'd like to claim you were drunk, but you're actually stone-cold sober. 

You don't know what makes you visit Grimmauld Place in the afternoon, before dinner, when you've told yourself a thousand times you'll never break your rule to go there before dusk. 

So far, there are very few rules you haven't already broken when it comes to dealing with the Weasley-Potters, regardless if they make sense or not. 

One of those rules said not to stay overnight. It's long forgotten. Another one said not to perform oral sex on Potter. You've changed it to only giving blowjobs when Potter gives you five in return. 

Establishing and applying rules is what you do to delude yourself you're in control of the situation – your _Gryffindor situation_ , as you refer to it in your mind, or when you're talking to Blaise - though deep down you already know you aren't. The worst thing is that they're not tricking you into breaking your rules. You're tricking yourself. 

Well, mostly. Of course you've realised how they try to lure you into sleeping there. 

“You up for another go, Draco?” Potter purrs, licking at the sensitive skin at your neck, biting playfully, and when you refuse to react, because you've already fucked him, and her, and he's sucked you off, adds “Or are your tired already?”, feigning concern and kissing your temple softly, affectionately. And you have no choice but to show him you aren't, and you're the one who decides when you're finished with them. 

You fall asleep in his arms afterwards, too drained to move. 

 

You appear at the doorstep, cursing yourself silently for your foolishness, and deciding, since it's a cold November afternoon and the sky is clouded, that you're only bending, not breaking your rule. When Potter opens the door, his eyes light up, and he smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes it hard to be annoying and bad-tempered. But annoying is what you are by nature. You do what you have to do. You enter the house and behave like a git. 

“Not that I'm complaining, mind you,” he says when you sit down at the kitchen counter, observing his dinner preparations. “But why are you here? You usually don't eat dinner with us.”

Usually. As if you'd ever done it before. Well, except from late night cooking experiments when Ginny's in her pre-menstrual phase. 

“I thought it might be nice to have a quick afternoon fuck,” you reply. “Instead of wasting the whole night here. You told me you were taking time off today. Where's Ginny, by the way?”

“Out,” he answers. “Having a girl's night with Hermione and Luna.”

“You didn't tell me,” you say, sounding resentful.

“Did, too. Last night.”

You snort. “I've been occupied with other things. And after that, I was sleeping.” 

He grins at you. “Yeah.” 

“So -” you're not quite sure how to continue. If you should stay or go. You don't want to go, not after the day you've had, but you don't want to appear needy, either.

“So. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Why don't you help me set the table?”

“I'm not your house-elf, Potter.”

Not even your contemptuous remark dampens his good mood. “Draco. Come on.” 

You set the table with plates and glasses and choose a wine. At least he knows how to cook a decent meal. Dinner is a pleasant and unusually quiet affair. He looks at you, concerned, and once you've finished your dessert, he leans back and clears his throat. “What's wrong?” 

“Nothing's wrong,” you snap. “Nothing.” You throw your napkin on the table and rise to your feet. You find yourself standing at the window, watching the sky. No sunset today, it simply gets darker and darker. 

He draws close. His hands rest on your shoulders. “Draco. You're all tense. Come on, let's go to the bedroom. I'll massage your back, and you tell me about your day.” 

“The fuck I will,” you mutter, but follow him upstairs nevertheless.

 

He straddles your back and puts oil on his fingers. You're still wearing your pants, to make sure his fingers don't stray to places they don't belong. 

Then he works magic with his hands, slowly, deliberately turning you into a puddle of mush. You moan and sigh and arch into his touch, and before you know what's happening, you're telling him about you're father. “He wants me to marry Asteria Greengrass.” 

His hands falter. “Fuck,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah.”

“You can't,” he says forcefully.

“Of course I can,” you say. “She's the youngest Greengrass sister. They've no sons, and they'd like nothing better but to get access to the Malfoy fortune.”

“No,” he breathes, close to your ear, a pleading note in his voice. He's caressing your back, so tenderly. “You can't. If you marry, then everything's over.”

“Everything? What do you mean? Our regular little shagging sessions? I don't think she'd object to those.”

“Maybe not her. But I will. And Ginny will.”

“Why on earth would you do that? Wouldn't that be a little hypocritical? You two have sex with someone else beside your spouse, too.”

“We've sex with _you,_ ” he emphasises. “That's different.”

“Different? How?”

“Simply is,” he says, voice low, and you know better than to push him. He's as stubborn as you – or as Ginny, for that matter – and if he doesn't want to argue with you, he simply won't. 

“Go on, then,” you urge. “Massage, remember?”

And he does, kneading and stroking until the knots melt under his hands. You're getting hard, and you'd really like a fuck, and judging by the hard-on that's pressing against you thighs, so would he. You should turn over, flip your positions, take control and shag him hard, as always. But you don't want to, you're too weary, and it feels too good, being taken care of like this. You can't remember the last time you bottomed. Although you like it, you don't do it very often. And not for Potter. Never for Potter, that's another rule. A crucial one. 

Fuck the rules, you think. You're a Malfoy, if you want something, you get it. “Fuck me,” you whisper, and he holds his breath. 

“What did you just say?”

“Come on, Potter, no teasing, no stalling. Just do it.”

He takes his time, and it feels so good you don't even protest. He's reluctant, at first, but when the first finger hits your prostate and you moan helplessly, he abandons his cautiousness and starts preparing you in earnest. 

When he slides inside you, your body giving way to his hard cock, accommodating to the intrusion, you feel him shake with the futile attempt to hold back. 

“Fuck me already,” you demand, voice rough, and finally, he does, moving in and out with steady thrusts. Soon you whimper beneath him, begging for more, wanting him to fuck you harder, to fill you, wanting him to never stop, not when it means he'll leave you empty and incomplete.

This moment you know you can't marry Asteria, not when you'll be losing this, losing him, and her. You're all but sobbing because it feels so amazing and you hear your own voice, oddly foreign, as if it belongs to someone else, pleading, “Harry, please, so good, don't stop, please, Harry, Harry -” 

When you fall, coming in his hand the moment he touches your cock, it takes you straight to the abyss, but he's there to catch you. Holds you. Kisses you, and whispers four words that you pretend not to hear, but crave. “I love you, Draco.” 

With that, you're undone and can do nothing but melt into the bed, close your eyes in surrender while he thrusts into you for a last time and comes, stilling and shuddering. 

You stay there, right there, and you don't even think about leaving. 

When Ginny comes home, late at night, you wake up, though she tries hard not to make any noise. But Gryffindors never are as sneaky as they'd like to be, and you open your eyes and look at her, standing in the bedroom in silence and darkness, the beautiful colour of her hair indistinctive, her eyes wide and gleaming. 

Harry, lying next to you, shifts and murmurs, still sound asleep. 

Ginny settles down on the bed. The scent of smoke and firewhisky is all around her. Inhaling deeply, you also smell the remnants of her shampoo, her sweat and the sweetness of her skin. 

“Glad you're here,” she whispers, smiling.

You don't want to talk about it, so you simply reach for her and enfold her in your arms. She snuggles closer, her head resting at your shoulder. She kisses you, briefly. “What did you have for dinner?” she asks. 

“Steaks.”

“And chocolate.”

“Chocolate cake. Harry saved a slice for you.”

“Good,” she murmurs. And freezes in your arms a moment later. “Did you just call him Harry?”

In the middle of the night, secure in the darkness, you don't bother. “Don't get used to it.” 

“All right. Night, Draco.”

“Night,” you whisper, falling asleep a moment later.

 

You don't marry Asteria. You simply can't. When your father asks you for the reason, you don't answer, only shrug and avoid him for the next few days. It's your mother who asks you, cautiously, if you're seeing someone, and you shake your head and tell her to leave you alone. 

 

It gets harder to separate the two lives you're living. To keep them out of your daily routine, to be unconcerned and pretend you're not bothered by what they do in the slightest. 

You pretend not to care when Harry's missing for three days, after he's disappeared on a field mission, captured by a dark wizard. But you do floo-call in sick, and head for Grimmauld Place. 

 

To your astonishment, you find Ginny in the living room, wand ready at hand. She's radiating fury, her hair seems to be spraying sparks. Any moment, the furniture will catch fire. 

Very cautiously, you draw closer. “Ginny.” 

She whirls around on her heels, her face alight with determination. “They won't fucking let me go after him. They tell me to stay here and wait. _Wait_. While my fucking husband is out there, anywhere, and they're doing nothing to find him.” 

You don't exactly know what to do. In the end, you decide that what she needs most right now is someone to yell at. So you pretend you're wanting to console her and come up with platitudes. 

A moment later, she _does_ yell at you, swearing and cursing, and when you yell back, she all but explodes. You hope she won't hex you – no _Protego_ is strong enough to shield you from her magic when she's really angry – but fortunately, she chooses a physical attack. In the end, you two end up wrestling on the floor until you can pin her body down with your weight and keep her wrists in a bruising grip. 

Finally she gives in and stops struggling. “He could be dead. Draco, fuck, he could be dead.” 

“He isn't. He's isn't. It's Potter, remember. He's alive. He'll come back.” You repeat it so many times you're about to believe it yourself. 

She doesn't cry. Instead, she smiles at you wearily. “What are you doing here, Draco? Finally cracking up and done with pretending you don't care?” 

“I'm here after all, am I not?” you murmur. 

She laughs, sadly, not amused at all, and takes your hand when you get up from the floor. 

That night, you hold her until she falls asleep, for once staying in your arms until morning. 

The next day, you two fuck, and it's the first time you slow it down deliberately to make it last. The sooner it is over, the sooner she'll remember, and you will, too. 

During the day, you cook meals and help her with the laundry while she tries to concentrate on her work. Her workplace is in the attic, and in the afternoon, you accompany her there for reading old potions journals and assist her with tailoring charms. 

You tell yourself you're not worried. Worry is against the rules. _Fuck the rules_. You decide there and then you don't need them anymore. 

On the third day, when the auror department floo-calls that Harry has been found, alive and well, you both collapse on the floor. She's laughing with joy when she turns to you, claiming your lips in a urgent kiss. 

The flames come alive as Harry stumbles through the floo network. You're too occupied to take notice, shagging on a rug in front of the fireplace, already too far gone to care. When you both come, she shakes beneath you with the force of her climax, her thighs tightening around your waist and pulling you closer still. 

Still riding it out, you hear his voice from behind your back. “Oh, shit. I was tired a minute ago, but now all I want to do is fuck.” The next moment, he's naked, crawling on to Ginny, and she  pushes him down on his back, straddles him and takes him in. 

“Love you. Love you”, she whispers, moving up and down a few times. 

His fingers entwine with hers. “Love you, Gin, missed you, missed you so much, both of you. Oh, please -” 

But she stops, laughing breathlessly, pulling away. She looks at you, her eyes glittering. “Come on, Draco.” 

You know what she wants you to do, and you agree. Without thinking twice you replace her, lowering yourself down on Harry's cock, her wetness and your own come the only lubricant you get, but you still ride him hard, enjoying the pain that comes with the pleasure, while she sits down beside him and kisses him, again and again. 

Harry doesn't last long. Thirty seconds, or maybe a minute. He comes with a deep groan, bucking his hips and thrusting into you so deep you'll be able to feel him there for a week. Afterwards you kiss him, kiss her, kiss him, watch them kiss. 

You get up and leave the house a little later, even though you don't want to, but you have to go to work again. He's not your spouse, you remind yourself when all you want to do is return to Grimmauld Place, curl up with them under the sheets and make sure he's all right. 

 

 

_January_

 

It's three weeks later in the evening when you meet at yet another ministry event. They're sitting at another table, chatting with other people, decidedly not looking at you. They seem content with each other, completely undisturbed, as if nothing's amiss, and it probably isn't. 

You want to scream with fury, jealousy and with confusion. All your insecurities come back in a rush. They don't want you, they don't need you. You're just a nice diversion, they're spicing up their love life. They don't care about you. 

And all of a sudden, you're that little boy again, wanting to be loved, trying so hard to evoke a sign of affection from his parents, trying so hard to get their attention. And your an eleven-year old again, wandering the Hogwarts express, pretending so hard you're composed and in control, almost succeeding, until your self-confidence gets shattered by a black-haired boy who refuses to take your hand. 

You see Ginny kiss Harry, and Harry throws an arm around her waist, all the while laughing with Granger and Weasley. You snap, getting up with a snarl and leave the room. You can't stand it anymore, and you don't know what to do. 

This night, you pick up a boy at a shady pub where you went to get drunk, and fuck him at your flat, in your bed, the one you've rarely slept in for the last months. Or at least that's what you intend to do, but as it turns out, he annoys you to no end, so you throw him out, apparate him back to Nocturne Alley, leaving him there, looking hurt and confused all the while you're just glad you got rid of him. 

You swear you won't go there anymore. It was a mistake, all of it. They don't need you, they don't want you. 

So you decide you don't want them, either. 

 

Five days later, Harry enters your office without awaiting permission, storming inside and radiating an aura of determination. “ _You_ ,” he snarls. “Fuck, you, Draco, where have you been? It's been five days. Five fucking days, and not a word from you. If I hadn't known you were coming to work, I'd have gone to your flat to look for you. Why the hell didn't you call?” 

You cross his arms at your chest. “I didn't know we had any compulsory appointments,” you drawl. “And it would be nice if you set up a silencing charm if you intend to yell at me.” Wish an irritated swish of you wand, you do just that. 

“Why didn't you call?” he asks, once again. His fury's gone. Mostly. “Ginny's been out of her mind.”

“Why, Potter, I didn't know you cared,” you taunt. 

He shakes his head, incredulous. “What's wrong with you? Draco, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He steps closer. 

You can't let it happen, not again, and get to your feet. “Stay away from me!” 

That's the moment he realises something is seriously wrong. His eyes soften. “Draco – tell me -” 

“No. Just stay the fuck away from me.”

He looks at you, trying to figure out what is bothering you. “I won't. I can't. I promised Ginny I wouldn't go without a satisfying explanation.” 

“Well, you won't get one.”

“Well, I won't go away until you give it to me.” He crosses his arms, too, and glares at you, something he's admittedly good at.

“If you want me t _o give it to you_ , Potter, you'll have to wait for a long time. I don't intend to. Never again,” you say with a sneer.

“Draco. I don't know what's wrong all of a sudden. Please, don't do this to me. To us. To yourself.”

“Get out of my office.”

“If you promise to come to Grimmauld Place tonight. To talk.”

In the end, you give in and agree to meet him. One more time, you tell yourself. Only one more time, and you'll tell them it's over. 

 

As usual, you're wrong. The moment you enter the house, Ginny's in your arms, throwing herself at you and you have no choice but to hold her if you don't want her to fall. Of course you don't want that. 

She kisses you, fiercely, and you respond, as if nothing's changed. 

The moment you put her down, she slaps you. Hard. “That's for not talking to us for a whole week. Arsehole.” 

Your cheek's on fire. You put your own, cold hand on it to cool the sting. “It's been five days. And a half.”

“Arsehole.”

You all but smile. “Bitch.” 

“Make-up sex. Now. _Now_.”

“I don't think -”

She stamps with her foot. “Upstairs.” 

You look at her, utterly enraged as she is, and oblige. 

“Clever boy,” you hear her mutter when she follows you up the stairs. 

Harry's already there, emerging from the bathroom, fully clothed. He looks at you and raises his eyebrow when he sees your reddened, swollen cheek. “Ouch.” 

“Talk later,” Ginny insists. She pulls you backwards to the edge of the bed, down on the sheets and on top of her. “Draco. Draco.” She kisses you, and grabs your rapidly hardening cock, as you moan and thrust into her hand. 

“Off.” She tugs at your shirt. “Fucking take them _off_.”

“Damned pushy brat.”

“Bloody wanker.”

Harry just shakes his head. 

The moment you're naked, she pulls you towards her, spreading her legs, demanding, without words, to take her, hard and fast. You do it, groaning with pleasure the moment you enter her, slamming your hips and stetting a relentless pace. “Harder,” she hisses. “Deeper. More. Draco.” 

And you fuck her, the way you've never fucked anyone else before, the way she wants it, needs it. And you need it, too, it's redemption and reassurance and taking possession. It's over far too soon, she screams and arches beneath you, devastatingly beautiful. The next moment, when you look at her, you slow down your pace and stare at her face. You're doomed, and you don't care. “Ginny. Ginny.” 

You circle your hips, rocking slightly. Her breath hitches. “Ginny.” 

One more shallow thrust, and you loose it, spilling your seed deep inside her, claiming her body, her heart, her soul. Giving yourself to her.

Her arms are all around you. She smiles at you. “Arsehole. Maybe _now_ you care to explain.” 

You can't. You can't phrase all your fears, not now. Maybe one day, you'll be able to. “I'm a fool,” you say instead, dropping your head to her shoulder. 

“Too true,” Harry murmurs. He's propped up on a pile of pillows, next to you. “Whatever _were_ you thinking. I don't want to know.” Your gazes meet, and lock. 

Ginny looks at the two of you. “More make-up sex?” She smiles, again. 

“Later,” Harry says, his forcefulness stirring something deep inside your lower body. A knot of desire that tightens and makes you inhale sharply.

Ginny disentangles herself from you, and you sigh. She's got that special look on her face that means trouble. Serious trouble. 

“Living room,” she says. “Dinner. And then we'll talk.”

They order floo-delivery pizza for dinner, and you don't complain. The three of you eat in companionable silence. 

Later, you sit down at the sofa, Ginny next to you, facing you, her legs drawn up and crossed. She looks calm and determined. You've taken on a defensive posture, your arms folded on your drawn-up knees. Your parents would have a fit if they ever saw you that way. 

Harry's sitting at the floor. One arm thrown on the sofa, his hand caressing Ginny's thigh, casually. A non-sexual, comforting touch. 

“Draco,” she says, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “There are things we want from you. Essential things.”

You're tempted to lift an eyebrow and smirk at her. You always give in to temptation, so that's exactly what you do. 

She scowls. “First, we want you to move in with us.” 

Your jaw drops. 

“Second, we want you to sleep with us. And only with us. Exclusively.”

You stare at her. Harry tries to hide a grin. 

“Third, we want you to go out with us in public and openly admit your commitment – your relationship - with us.”

You wet your dry lips. You stare. You stare. You still stare. “What if I don't agree to this?” 

“Then we'll break up. Immediately and definitely.”

You ponder on it. Not that there's much you can do. Whatever Ginny wants, she gets, in that respect, she's even better than a Malfoy. 

“What's in it for me?” you ask, only to make clear you're not so easily convinced. 

Ginny smiles. “Sex. Lots of sex. Cuddling. Lots of it, too.” 

You shrug, feigning boredom. “Sounds great. All right. I accept.” 

And that's it. Almost. 

You thought after everything she's just told you, she couldn't surprise you ever again. 

“There's one more thing. I want to have your babies.”

 

Months go by. You don't know if your father actually disinherited you or not. You don't care. You've got enough money to live on your own, and if you take Harry's heritage in account, you're probably better off than your father. More gold, less immovable objects. Who needs a manor, anyway. 

 

Ginny keeps her promise. You get lots of sex, even more of it when she's pregnant, at least until she gets so fat she can only waddle and looks like she's swallowed a hippogriff. She's more beautiful than ever, carrying your baby, your daughter, yours and hers and Harry's. 

During the last few weeks, though, she mostly confines herself to watching you and Harry when you two fuck. 

You get used to sleeping in bed with them. 

You get used to waking up with Harry spooning your back, his erection fitting snugly in the crease of your arse. You bottom for him, at times. You still like fucking him better. But you let him sleep in the middle, even if it means you have to steal the blanket back from him in the morning. 

 

It's not all puppy-dog love and butterflies. You argue. A lot. About everything. Constantly. 

With Ginny, it's nasty remarks, loud yelling, heated discussions and even hotter make-up sex. With Harry, it's deep scowls and brooding anger and contemptuous glares, and it lasts until you reconcile at night, your bodies entangling of their own volition, and more often than not you're woken the next morning with a blowjob that leaves you out of breath, completely relaxed and unable to hold a grudge. 

You know that the moment you and Harry start to insult each other in earnest, things will get out of hand, and you're careful not to overstep the bounds. Not even Ginny will be able to fix it if you do. 

 

Weasley and Granger have their nervous breakdown the first time they come for breakfast and find out it's you who's been Harry's and Ginny's secret lover for a more than half a year. Ginny just smiles when your brother calls you a ferret, and kisses you deeply and passionately in front of him. 

To annoy Weasley a little more, you approach Harry from behind and let your hands slide over his hips, pulling him close and more or less obviously grinding against him. 

They don't stay long after that. 

 

You refuse to visit the Burrow. 

You refuse to say I love you. Except for the sleepy, soppy moment after sex, in the dark, and you rely on them not to taunt you with it later. In the dark, everything makes more sense, and you get used to whispering sweet nothings to Ginny's ear, or maybe Harry's if you've just fucked, lying on your sides, and your softening cock is still inside him. 

You refuse to kiss them when they've eaten garlic and you haven't. 

You refuse to be seen with Harry in public if he doesn't wear appropriate robes. Or jeans. 

You refuse to assure Ginny you will love your daughter even if she's named Lily. A Lily Narcissa, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether. 

 

 

_November, again_

 

The day your daughter is born, you're looking at her with awe and wonder. You let Harry hold her first, content with watching. When you take her from Harry's arms, you kiss him in consolation for his temporary loss. 

Looking down on her tiny, crumpled face, you simply can't believe she's yours. Yours. _Ours_ , you think, and it's a heady rush of profound gratitude and devotion that fills you, understanding truly for the first time what it means that they let you give them what Harry couldn't: a baby. 

You won't tell them, but it's this moment when you realise that the special and strange bond between the three of you can't be denied anymore. And you're not worried in the slightest. 

When your little girl's back in Harry's arms, you kiss Ginny on the forehead, gently, and though it's not quite dark yet, you whisper a soft “I love you, Gin,” to her ear, expecting – and getting – her tired, but radiating smile in return. 

You take Harry home, to your bed that's 's too big for just the two of you, and when you fuck him to completion later that night and he holds you afterwards, you don't know whether to laugh or cry. 

It doesn't matter. So you settle for both. 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Ginny: What's Been Missing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/603139) by [niania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niania/pseuds/niania)




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